The lights in Cherry Hall shone like the blaze of noon in the dimming light of evening, illuminating the grounds like a vast phosphorescent spirit. The light of a thousand candles burst forth from the stained-glass windows to shine on the groups of excited students who now made their way into the Hall, bobbing and bunching like schools of fish, dressed in the finest their parents could afford and wearing masks of all colors and shapes. There were tigers and birds and wolves, evil spirits and mythic beasts, warriors and delicate butterflies, beautiful Mugrobi and Bastian designs, even some Hoxian masks lined with fur and covered in the geometric patterns of the far north. The excitement in the air was palpable as the announcer welcomed them all to the Masquerade Ball.

Students weren't the only ones in attendance. The Arts Fair had attracted all sorts, from foreign dignitaries to distinguished artisans to visiting experts. Vienda's high society had made the trip to Brunnhold to attend the event, and ladies in their finest were having a marvelous time judging each other from behind their exquisite masks.

Khymarah sat in the carriage as it pulled closer to Brunnhold, having stayed the evening in the hotel Moore had arranged. It was every bit as lovely as he had said, which was a welcome relief from her usual residence at The Brass Uncle. She wore a deep peacock blue dress, covered in a barely noticeable jacquard print. It was cut to sit off the shoulders and the sleeves finished at the elbow, with a black satin trim. The over skirt was open to reveal a fine peacock green underskirt, which was ruched in places at the bottom to reveal a rich gold layer of skirting. Around her neck and on her ears she wore a simple set of white pearls. Her mask was a small affair, blue feathers with a pearl trim around the edges. Her thick ruby tresses were piled into a sweeping updo, curls falling gently here and there around her face. In her hair, she wore a silver chained headdress, delicate but eye catching. Theo's opal sat right in the center of her forehead, resting on her hairline. In her updo she had silver and diamond flowers, pinned into the curls.

Turning to Theo, she smiled.

"Almost there, you look so lovely Theo. I can't wait to see their faces. I don't think anyone here has met a Qriethian before."

Theophania had been watching out the carriage window as they rode to the Ball. Her face nearly pressed to the glass as she admired Brunnhold for the first time. She had also noticed the stares her pale face peering from the window had occasionally caught.

“We look lovely.” She laughed at the red head’s exuberance, “I can’t wait! It should be quite the first introduction.” Her cherry-blossom pink eyes sparkled, “We’ll be quite the pair, I’m not sure they’ll know what to do with us!”

Her fabulously set white-blond curls bounced as she laughed, setting off the many multicoloured gems she had chosen to wear with her new gown. The gown was an empire waisted affair with thin straps, deep blue at her chest, under set with a row of pearls, fading into a pale near white at her feet, with a small finger loop on the left side so that it could be held up by the matching gloves. They had even managed to find a pair of powder blue shoes to go with it. She grasped her mask lightly in her right hand, an odd creation itself, a glass rod with a vial at the upper end with a simple power blue mask attached. She had spent 2 hours wandering between stalls trying to find the perfect flower to put in the vial, finally settling on a seedling bud on a short vine. Just before they had left the hotel, she had cast Grow on it, sending it into a spiralling spurt coiling around the mask and rod, revealing a beautiful pink flower, and concealing the small vial at the top, which was now filled with a small amount of water for the plant.

If she was nervous at all, she was hiding it well.

In their conventional manifestation, balls were not a friend to Abeline Ixbridge. They were too loud, too bright, and populated almost entirely by dullards. She would much prefer to spend an evening clipping her toenails, and, in truth, had a history of excusing herself from all manner of festivities. On the night of the Clock's Eve Ball, of example, she was comfortably sitting in her room, rereading The King of Storm Mountain for the fifth time. Instead of attending her own graduation reception, she played a game of Kingdoms against herself. She had for so long neglected her galdori birthright, that no one had asked her if she would be present at the gathering on the 20th. Thus, she was hoping to catch someone by surprise.

For, you see, a masquerade was the one soiree for which Abe would make an exception. It was a rare chance for galdorikind to explore their imaginations, and she delighted in seeing what their rusty machinery would produce. Her own costume was, she had to begrudgingly admit, not particularly original. Just on her way out of the dormitory, she'd spotted at least three other pirates, and one brigand of questionable seamanship. However, she supposed, few of her fellows would guess that she was an owl pirate.

So armed with her strigean secret, Abe approached Cherry Hall with a small measure of confidence in her step. The feeling, however, was soon undermined by the treacherous cant of her heels. Her knee-high boots were a far cry from her usual penny loafers, and they made walking without a slight wobble utterly impossible. How embarrassing. Maybe I should have rehearsed using these things... I only hope I don't fall over and expose my underskirts for all of Anaxas to see.

Wearing a dress had that effect on her. Throughout the night, she would remain ever-vigilant against undue presentation of her voluminous and many-layered slips. Though she herself cared little, for the trousers she normally wore revealed more in terms of shape, the social construct was such that it would be impermissible, and she liked to at least attempt to maintain an image of respectability (even if she failed so often at aggreeability).

Hovering a few yards from the entrance, Healer Ixbridge rested her wrists on her hips, regretting the lack of pockets. She sighed, reconsidering her whole plan for the night. Perhaps I'd be better off practicing the oboe.

The crowd milled around the newcomers, the men smiling and coughing with embarrassment and a few of the unkinder women turning up their noses in jealousy. A few ignorant stares came Theo's way, but the academic elite were well aware of Gioran physiology and were not phased in the least. A few of Khymarah's old classmates were present, and they turned green with jealousy at her dress.

Professor Brian Melles hung back from the doorway as well, adjusting his cravat and clearing his throat. The Living magic professor hated social events, but his wife had summarily ordered him to attend, and he had very little say once she'd laid down the law. Noticing Abe doing the same thing, he chuckled.

"Awful lot of fuss over art," he commented. "Personally I'll be celebrating when everybody leaves."

The ruby haired woman smiled widely at Theo, happy she'd run into the woman. Since there chance meeting in Vienda, Khymarah finally felt she had someone to talk to again - considering Fion had stopped. Shaking off the bitter feeling that brought on, she looked up as the carriage slowed.

"We're here!" She exclaimed a little too forcefully. The idea that people she had known as a student suddenly occurred to her, and the red head felt more than a little intimidated. But, it had been five years since graduation. Perhaps they'd grown up? Matured? The carriage pulled to a stop and she opened the door, stepping out onto the ground and stood to one side waiting for Theo.



The galdor looked at the Gioran, flipping open a delicate blue, green and gold fan, hiding a grin.

"Well then, looks like we've made a bit of an entrance. See those girls over there?" She subtly pointed out the envious classmates.

"They were trouble for me at school. Impure, thats the word they used. Come, why don't we try to get past them without to much of a fuss." The idea they were jealous tickled her, but at the same time she was terrified. What if they hadn't grown up? Were they going to embarrass her? She was thankful for the albino woman at her side.

Seeing all eyes were on the two elegant ladies, Abe sidled along behind them, hoping to remain unnoticed in their wake. If successful, she'd make a bee-line for the food tables. A pile of cheeses looked particularly enticing.

Debating exactly how in-character she should be, Abe unconsciously let out a quiet, "Arrr, mateys. Shiver me timbers, et cetera."


((lol, woops. so did not see Professor Melles there ))

Fowler shuffled his feet nervously, and adjusted his kilt for the umpteenth time. He'd asked his mother specifically not to send it, and what did she do? Packed it carefully with a note that read 'It is your family duty to wear the Hotchkiss colors to any and all formal events.' That was it. No 'Hello, son, we're glad you're doing well,' no 'Ohh, you've met a girl, have you?!', no 'I'm so happy to hear you're making friends, darling'. Just stupid ol' 'family honor'. Bah. A pox on the family honor, I say!

His mask was starting to itch. He really hoped he wasn't allergic to the leaves he'd used to make it. It's nothing serious, just a few of the fallen ones from the big oak in front of the library. If I take this thing off and find a rash...he let out an exasperated sigh and checked the contents of a carefully wrapped funnel of paper. Still good.

Where was that girl?!

The Gioran galdor followed her friend into the Cherry Hall, marvelling at the structure, then the sea of colourful, sparkling people inside. Holding her mask just infront of her face, she couldn't help the slow, slightly proud grin that spread across her face as she caught the stares on the pair of them.

Her eyes gleamed with a prankster's spirit as she noted the women Khymarah pointed out. Catching a glimpse of uncertainty in the red-head's expression, she caught the woman's free hand and gave it a supportive sqeeze, "Let's go inside. I'm sure they can revel in their own discomfort at how plain they look next to you."



Theo nearly laughed out loud, in a completely ungraceful manner, at the "et cetera" that followed such a pirate-esqe speech behind them. She glanced over her shoulder, catching sight of the pirate behind them. "Well met, lady pirate." She said without missing a step, and turned back to the galdor she had come in with beaming profusely.

The pirate froze, caught by surprise, then relaxed and tipped her tricorn amiably. "Aye, same t' ye, lassies. Enjoying the diversion 'ere? By the briny blue waves, 'tis a hoot, in me own estimation."

A wry smirk came to her burgundy-painted lips. She blushed invisibly under her rouge, thankful for remembering to wear make-up.

"Th' name's Abe..." The pirate inclined her chin for a brief moment before continuing. "Abe Blacktalon. Ne'er did a finer mouser part th' clouds. And who might ye be?"

Nauleth could not remember the last time (if there had ever been a time) he'd been more pleased walking across campus to anything even resembling a formal event. He might have almost been as nervous as he was excited, with Athrym in her dizzying red dress on his arm and everyone all dressed up and in masks. It was, all in all, a very social event, but for once, the boy found he hardly cared.

Inwardly, he just hoped he didn't do or say anything stupid. Tonight, he had important things on his mind and he had no desire to muck them up. All he needed was the right moment, whenever that would be.

The dark-eyed boy smiled at the blond as they entered the hall, full of well-decorated finery and already filling with students, faculty, and staff. Naul glanced around and thought he might have seen Fowler, judging by the rather organic-looking mask, but he found he couldn't see or didn't recognize anyone else from their, um, circle of friends.

"Well, here we are." He said quietly, "Should I get us something to drink?"

Khymarah smiled thankfully at the white haired woman, glad she hadn't come alone. Holding her head high and fluttering her fan gently as she walked, she didn't give the women so much as a glance, but her stomach churned.



The redhead turned at the voice, looking at Theo with an amused grin. Someone was getting into the spirit.



She stopped their walking and turned to engage in proper conversation, hoping she could gain Theo some contacts. The woman needed more than just Khymarah - who was not the most useful example of a galdor in the first place.

"Well met Abe Blacktalon. My name is Khymarah Theraldon. Are you a faculty member or a student?" She doubted the latter.

Athrym let a little gasp escape her lips as they entered Cherry Hall. It looked amazing. She'd not realized they could do such beautiful things as a faculty. Catching Naul smiling at her, she returned it with a grin. Tonight was like some sort of fae-tale that you could read as a child.



Looking around, she thought she could see Fowler, but it was hard to tell. All the fields around were disguising his own and the green leafy mask hid his features. But the height was right. No Ali yet. Nodding, she turned her pale blue eyes back on Nauleth.

"Yes, that would be nice. I'll leave it up to you what you get. Surprise me." She giggled. It had been months since she'd even gotten close to alcohol. Tonight, she was pretty sure she didn't want to get drunk, but one or two wouldn't hurt. That was if they were serving alcoholic beverages for the students.

"Pleased t'meet ye, Miss Theraldon." As she turned to the blue-and-white-clad woman, she frantically searched her memory for the name. Drawers were opened, papers went flying, and, at last, the file was found. The case of Heterochromia. Upperclassman. Exceedingly shy.


"Faculty. I'm a Professor of Ornithology and.. arr.. Trade. Creative Procuring is me specialty."

The pirate leaned closer to the two women, cupping a gloved hand by her cheek conspiratorially. She said softly, "Actually, I'm an intern at the Infirmary. I'm a healer." Her field pulsed faintly to provide corroborating evidence.

"Theophania Nadeau," She curtsied, her bejeweled curls dancing forward around her face, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Piratess Abe."



"Really?" Theo's cheery blossom pink eyes lit up, and her field pulsed back, "Just the sort of person I was hoping to speak to... What are your thoughts on the theory that Heal Tissue used in conjunction with Adrenaline can improve chances of a successful healing of a moderate wound in less time?"

Forgetting piracy, Theo's companion, and all of the revelers in Cherry Hall, Abe's mind pounced down the unexpected avenue of conversation.

"Ooh! Well, the increased blood flow would certainly bring more organic materials for the mona to work with -- they do prefer to use what's available. And the adrenaline might help a patient ignore the pain involved with reconstructing damaged tissue -- though they might fight back harder! Ha! Still, brilliant idea, Miss Nadeau."

She grinned delightedly at her fellow healer. Abe hadn't considered the possibility of meeting interesting people. The prospects for the next few hours suddenly looked much brighter.

"Don't wander too far."

Nauleth grinned. He let his hands linger an extra moment or two as he glanced around for refreshments, reluctantly walking away once he spotted what he was looking for. He carefully navigated his way through the still-thin crowd of masked galdori, thankful that it was still early and as-yet uncrowded. The boy hovered, realizing he'd not drank at all since the Crypts. Had he learned something unintended that night? Or had he just been too distracted ever since? Or both?

He wondered if there was someone serving drinks, and so glanced around the tables and impressively-stocked bar, only slightly eager to return to his date.

((Willing to edit if an NPC is too much work or whatever! ))

The redhead's ears perked up at that. A fellow healer, what a lucky first greeting! She felt Abe's field with a slight nod. It was good.



Khymarah nodded in agreement, she'd had a similar thought. Although it seemed a trifle energy expensive for only a moderate injury.



The older woman reached out with her field to encompass the two women, before pulling it gently in again. She'd studied hard for the resistance, and level two spells were well within her range. Lifting a finger, she spoke.

"Its a rather good idea in theory, and I've thought of using it myself. But if your in the middle of a firefight, it wouldn't be useful to expend so much energy on a moderate injury. In your everyday healing though, it would help with speed. I have considered the pain aspect of healing, obviously the worse the wound, the worse the pain. Casting Anesthetic before Heal Wound is a good way to go, but not good if the subject is weak. A slight adjustment in the monite and you could possibly request the anesthetic to be localised to your point of healing." She paused to gather her thoughts.

"I find the bleeding in large wounds most concerning. In the time it takes you to cast Healing Force, a lot of blood can be lost. Using pressure helps, but you have to be careful not to Heal the cloth into the wound." Khymarah stopped with a laugh.

"Excuse me, I tend to go off in a ramble. Have you worked at the school long Abe?"

Hunter's outfit was rather military in inspiration: the style was that of a Seventen uniform. However the color was black. Black leather boots and pants. Black leather fingerless gloves. Black silk shirt worn under a black-on-black brocade jacket. Red silk, the color of dried blood, peaked out at the collar and the cuffs. The sash was red silk embroidered with vines and, in place of insignia or snap, was adorned with a small silver skull. He had spent some time and energy, and not a small amount of money, in putting things together. Unlike his typical apparel, this outfit was perfectly cut, perfectly fitted and without a single tear, wrinkle or stain.

The mask covered everything above his mouth. Black leather panels set against black silk were patterned in the design of a chrove's head. The horn-like ears curved forward and down and met just in front of Hunter's mouth. The silk fabric was tied out and knotted behind his head like a scarf. His own design of a leather chrove's head was more fierce but would have taken him weeks – possibly months - to create. He had been grateful that the mask merchant had this elegant match for his idea. The black mask brought out a bluish color to his eyes and made them look paler than normal.

He circled the room silently, staying off to the sides of the action. He was there to observe and learn what he could of what other attendees were discussing.

Athrym watched him go a little wistfully, standing alone with her hands clasped together nervously. It was hard to look away from him, worried if she did, she might wake up and find this was all a lovely dream. Finally convinced it would be fine, she turned and looked around. A boy dressed all in black, vaugly resembling a Seventen was walking through the crowd. Narrowing her eyes to blur his form together, she gasped and waved at him.

"Hunter? Is that you? Clocking hell, you look great! That mask is incredible!" She was too happy and enjoying herself too much to put up her usual cold front. Tonight she was a different girl. Who knew what tomorrow would bring, and who cared about the past. Tonight, she was a student without fear of expulsion hanging over her head, with good friends and a boy she cared very deeply about.

Clock it, a boy she loved. The blonde smiled to herself, a private smile.

Abe started at the field-hug, her own field retreating close to her. Field-to-field contact bothered her less than physical contact, but the impressive display triggered a prickly response from her introverted instincts. Still, she was impressed, even humbled, by Khymarah's superior relationship with the mona. That's some power! Level Two? One could do a lot with that...

When the initial shock subsided, Abe listened to Khymarah speak. The comment about battlefield healing earned a raised eyebrow as she briefly tried to imagine Khymarah in a firefight. No scenario she could dream up seemed to fit the woman standing before her. There must be more to her than meets the eye.


"Only a slight adjustment in a grammatical sense. You still have to know the exact phrase in Monite for the area to be anesthetized, otherwise it may not match the location to be healed. But, yes, it works. I've taken to doing just that for most of the minor injuries I treat." She didn't mention that she'd spent years studying, memorizing, and diagramming the thousands of monic terms for anatomical minutiae. As far as she could tell, she wasn't even at the half-way point to complete knowledge.


"That's what Congeal is for. Though it does take time to cast, it is simpler than Healing Force, and there are some variations designed for short casting times. Unfortunately, I've been told they're more painful than the original. There seems to be an inverse relationship in the spell between rapidity and unpleasantness."


"Ramble? Hardly. This is one of the better ten minutes I've experienced all week." Sadly, she wasn't lying.

"I've been at the Infirmary since I graduated three years ago. Mostly, I wanted to further my education before unleashing myself on the hapless 'real world.' However," she gave a heart-felt sigh, "I've been missing Vienda more and more lately. As much as I love Brunnhold, it's not home. Not the way Vienda is."

For Abe, the university town held many charms, but it lacked the sophisticated, cosmopolitan culture she'd grown up attending. Symphonies, operas, museums, galleries, restaurants... In Brunnhold, these were not of sufficient quality or quantity to satisfy her lust for fine art.

She was homesick.

Athrym's greeting was a surprise, and a pleasant enough one that he forgave her for letting slip the anonymity of the masks. Her joy was contagious. It was a pity that it showed so rarely, but perhaps that was due to change soon. Hunter made his way over and gave her a fancy bow in greeting.

"Thank you, Miss Bruthgrave. I must say that you yourself are breathtaking. The warm colors and sparkle quite suit you. I'm sure Nauleth's eyes must have popped straight out of his skull when he saw you."

In fact, the excitement of a ball leant a fantasy quality to the entire community. Even the familiar hall was transformed into a wondrous setting. Almost, Hunter could see putting up with the constraints of Brunnhold if there were more night's like this.

"Perhaps you'll honor me with a dance later? There is dancing at these things I presume?"

"Perhaps you'll have to honor me with a rematch first, since I still have my eyes ... for now."

Naul spoke up haughtily from behind Fred as he approached, two drinks in hand.

He was, however, entirely joking. He paused to laugh, before apologizing with a genuine smile lopsidedly peeking out from underneath his mask, "Sorry, Hunter, I couldn't resist. It is indeed a dance, but we'll just have to wait and see if our lovely Athrym gets a spare moment to share the floor with anyone but myself."

The dark-eyed boy handed the blond her drink nonchalantly. A Starfly. He might have been revealing himself as more than just a little observant, but he made no verbal comment and his facial expression was almost entirely obscured by his hawkish mask.

"Here without a date?" Naul quipped to the other without malice after a sip of his own drink, a Hatcher, "I think I might know who would've gone with you, had you but asked her."

Hunter shrugged in an exaggerated manner, returning the good humor.
"Can't blame a kov fer tryin'."

"Oh, I don't da- I mean, I think my first social event at Brunnhold might be a better time to observe than participate. I'm sure I would have been a boring date given my tendency to wander at parties."

Ellie was...intimidated, to say the least.

She'd already been stepped on twice, and she was clinging to the wall to avoid a third encounter with the sharp heel of a wayward ladies' shoe. Her cat mask, which she'd made herself after refusing the frilly mask her dormitory sister had tried to loan her, was sagging down her nose; she had to continually push it up, and she was certain that it looked unladylike.

Scanning the crowd, she looked for Fowler's hair, but there were so many readheaded students that she despaired of ever running into him. Frustrated, she lifted her mask, hoping he would see her by some stroke of fate; otherwise, she'd be doomed to spend the evening alone.